Zuccaro
by Lord Herp of Derp
Summary: Tharja and motherhood at various points in her life.


_Usual copyright stuff here-I don't own any of the copywrites, ect ect ect. Is this even needed, considering the site this is on?  
_

_Fear my lack of pre-readers, and as usual, referring to music I was listening to at the time. Search for 'QNM' on youtube and it should be the first result-a track from E.Y.E.: Divine Cybermancy, one of my favorite games. 'Zuccaro' is the surname of the artist._

* * *

She's not really sure when the thought first crossed her mind... several months after Robin starts courting her, she supposes. The annual debutante ball is probably what set it off; a royal function, Chrom and Lissa had to attend but as a mere advisor Robin didn't. When he tells her she he can the spend the night with her, asks her if she'd like to spend the evening with him, she can feel herself blushing as she eagerly accepts, still giddy at the idea of spending time with him.

It's when they're in one of the reading chambers and Tharja goes to open a window that she sees the idea on the cobbled pathway below her. It's night but the garden is lit with countless candles and torches so she sees all the young girls, just a few years younger than Lissa in their dresses, gossiping and enjoying themselves. She spots a boy already sitting with a girl alone. Or at least, as alone as they can be, mothers and fathers hovering around all the children. Gently turning the latch, opening the window and having cool air and murmuring slip like silk over her skin and into the room she wonders what it's like, taking your child to an event like this.

And... the thought blossoms in her mind. Before she realises it, she's wondering what it would be like taking her own son or daughter to the event. Whether they would be well-behaved or, as she returns to the sofa Robin is sitting on, what they'd look like. Who's hair they'd have...

The thoughts dominate her mind for the rest of the week

* * *

Nearly a year later princess Lucina is born, named after her late paternal grandmother. Sumia sits in a massive armchair holding her daughter, not more than a week old, in her arms while Chrom sits by her side and looks down at his family with unrestrained joy. Lissa's perched on the opposite chair arm while Robin and Tharja stand off to the side. Without warning Tharja feels Robin's fingers intertwining with hers and she automatically takes his hand in hers. She gives him a glance and sees a... pensive look on his face. Not like the one he has thinking of troop deployments or logistic arrangements. It's... not familiar. And it's aimed squarely at Chrom and Sumia.

"Hee, she's so cute!" Lissa coos as her niece yawned, eyes slowly blinking before she looked around slowly, looking for the noise.

Tharja can't help but feel... jealous? No, she muses, glancing from the baby to Robin. Jealous isn't the right word... wistful?

Frederick picks that moment to disturb them. Entering the room, he explains something needs both the Exalt and his Tactician's presence. Probably something to do with the Risen attacks; they're not common, but they don't seem rare either. She shivers when she remembers her first encounter with them-something about their lumbering gaits, their soulless eyes, felt like walking over her own grave.

Giving her hand a squeeze, Robin leans close so only she could hear: "See you soon," he murmurs before kissing her on the cheek. She can feel the blush, and wants to hit him when she sees Lissa watching with a glint in her eyes. He knows she hates being the centre of attention. Chrom is less gracious, not bothering to hide his displeasure at leaving his wife and child. Kissing Sumia, he grumbles to Robin and Frederick as they leave the room and Tharja can hear him still grumbling down the corridor, Frederick and Robin gently reproaching him that he's king first, father second.

Which left the ladies alone; Tharja was practically inseparable from Robin these days when she wasn't researching, but she knew to stay out of 'official business'.

What Tharja hadn't realised was Sumia had caught the look the plegian had on her face when she'd looked from Robin to her... or more specifically, Lucina. Exchanging glances with Lissa, the queen stands and walks over to Tharja.

"You should hold her." She's never seen Tharja's eyes open so wide.

"...What...?" she manages to squeak out. Hold her baby? She was a plegian and... she wanted her to hold the Ylissean Princess?

Sumia holds her arms out. "Hold her." Tharja recognises that tone from her childhood, and has come to know Sumia well enough that she isn't going to take 'No' for an answer.

"I... don't know how" she mumbles even as she takes the infant in her arms, supporting Lucina's head without prompting. Lucina, eyes wide open, giggles at the new face, flails her chubby arms about before deciding to grab a small handful of this soft black stuff she can feel.

And taste it.

For her part, Tharja looks down at the baby in her arms with a mixture of fear and delight.

"...you're eating my hair," she grumbles without any real malice. Lucina carries on sucking on it, giggling back at her with a smile.

Lissa and Sumia look at each other, sharing a smile. Standing there with Lucina, Tharja looked... like it was the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

Just over a year later, Tharja catches the future Lucina alone in the barracks. The way the princess suppresses a flinch, her nervous, tense body language when she realises who she's talking to is not lost on Tharja and the answer it gives to one of her questions cuts her like a knife. Tharja asks if she and Robin had children. The warmth in Lucina's eyes and voice of her childhood friends as she relaxes makes a ghost of a smile come to Tharja, even while she nurses her injured psyche. An injury that gets steadily worse with every child they round-up.

* * *

She's lost track of Robin in the battle, and while that doesn't worry her (they're both perfectly capable of handling themselves) she still wants to be by his side instead of Henry's. His chatting and gleeful cackling is wrenched away from her attention when she _does_ finally see Robin in the distance-with another woman, holding hands and looking at each other with adoration and love. Hurt and betrayal bubble from her core and she doesn't even realise her tome-free hand is clenched so hard it's nearly drawn blood.

Her rage almost makes her miss the waif's hair colour is exactly the same as Robin's. Henry voices her suspicion; "She looks a lot like you and Robin, don't you think?"

Uncaring of any onlookers she runs over to the pair, and Tharja can't suppress the glee when she realises she has the girl's... no, the girl has _her _eyes. The thought nearly makes her forget herself and pull the girl in for a hug, but remembering the fear in Lucina's eyes makes her hesitate. The way her daughter almost cowers in front of her, then a talisman Tharja feels a stab of rage at her future self; why would she create such a thing? Why can she detect a hex on her daughter?

Doesn't matter. Not now. She's here and she's going to make it better for her daughter. "Just be my daughter. Leave the vengeance to me," she practically growls. Noire (she likes that name) suddenly hugs her, whimpering "M-mother!" into her ear, clearly trying not to cry. Tharja hugs her back out of instinct, feels Robin hug them both and Noire can't hold her tears back anymore. Holding her daughter, searing her voice and appearance and smell to memory, she makes a silent promise.

If anyone tries to harm her daughter it's going to be the last mistake they'll _ever_ make.

* * *

Though the dark mage hides it she still can't forget the way her daughter _flinched _the first time they talked to each other, forget how it confirmed the fear future Lucina had planted in her mind. She doesn't fully understand her future self. She doubt she ever will, entirely; the hexes, she does. Henry commented on how much... potential... Robin had when he'd first met him, and with Tharja as her mother as well, Noire is hardly far behind. Unlike her father though, Noire doesn't have... _something _keeping it in check. That power in her daughter has to go somewhere, but she doesn't want people judging her as a mother... so she decides to deal with it discreetly.

Discreetly fails miserably. Robin finds out and they argue over their daughter's 'treatment'. The memories of their bitter rowing flick briefly over her mind before being cast aside. After he'd taken her hexing implements she'd finally explained what she was doing and why. That night had at least been enjoyable though, she thinks with a flush, husband eager to make up for being so aggressive; wife for not trusting him and being so secretive.

"We're ready to being mother," Noire says, excitement clear in her voice, gently bringing Tharja back to now. In her tent, sitting almost opposite each other across the runic circle, Tharja looks at her daughter. _Really _looks at her, the slight, muscular girl in front of her. She reaches a decision. If Noire were to become half as skilled a dark mage as she is archer, even Henry would be nothing to her. Tharja remembers how great her elder sister was, also a dark mage.

Her _late _elder sister.

It makes Tharja's mind up for her. Noire is disappointed and unsure when Tharja announces there will be no rite, she won't teach her the dark arts. Noire thinks she's failed her mother somehow. Standing, she apologies for wasting her time, for being in the way, as she leaves. Tharja stops her and embraces her. "You could _never _be in my way," she murmurs into her daughter's ear, holding her tight. Pulling back, she cups her daughter's head in her hand, gently stroking a cheek with her thumb as she explains why there will never be training. The hope in Noire's eyes, that she might have the reason Tharja's future self made her suffer so makes her heart melt. Then Noire asks the question her mother's been dreading, because part of her honestly doesn't know.

"You think that she was worried for my safety? That...she loved me? "

Tharja won't lie to her daughter.

"Can't say. Not about her, at least."

Tharja will not lie to her own daughter. She hugs her again.

"...But I love you, if that helps. "

That dark part of her mind reminding her she's not Noire's real mother. Noire clearly doesn't think that though, because her face lights up at her words. "Mother..." she chokes out, tears in the corners of her eyes, hugging her back. Tharja's never been very good with tears; she didn't even cry when she found out about her sister, so instead she quickly focuses her daughter's attention onto how to prepare a healing poultice. Noire nods, smiling like Tharja's never seen before.

Tharja doesn't realise it mirrors her own.

* * *

They're in some stupid ruins in the stupid cold in the stupid north looking for some stupid artifact on the way to some stupid port to drive away some stupid invaders when there's a large purple flare of light to her right. Henry sees it too, judging by his loud appreciative cackle over on the other flank.

"What was that?" Chrom wonders aloud, halting the group for a moment.

"A mage," Robin puts forward.

"A very _powerful _dark mage," Tharja adds.

Chrom hesitates for a moment; that almost certainly means bandit or risen spellcaster this far north, before his compassion gets the better of him. They make to where the flare came from to give aid to whoever was trapped among the risen. Ten minutes (and several more flares of magic later) they arrive just in time to see a small figure in a familiar robe evaporate a hulking axe wielding risen more than twice their size. When Robin calls out a greeting, they spin on the spot, hair as black as her own but as scruffy as her husband's, a face filled with joy.

"There you are father!"

Noire chooses this moment to burst out of the group, scoop the little girl up and give her a rib-crushing hug.

"Morgan, I thought I'd lost you!"

* * *

Three hours later, they've found the Tear of Naga or whatever it was and back at camp. Tharja really doesn't care; she has something far more important in her tent demanding her attention.

_Morgana_.

Her late sister's name. 'Morgan' because according to Noire she couldn't handle the extra 'a' on the end when she was young. With absolutely no memory of her. In some ways that's worse than Noire's initial fear of her, Tharja can't help thinking, looking over at the girl sitting in her tent with her, the young girl holding her tome to her dog-eared tactician robe's chest like a shield, peering over the top when she isn't looking aside at random stuff. Tharja had thought Noire had potential as a dark mage, but Morgan is something else entirely. Armed with a customised Nosferatu this little girl has annihilated over half a dozen risen without any effort.

If that fight with the risen was anything to go by, at their worst her little Morgan is easily as powerful as mother or Henry on their best.

Tharja's torn between pride and fear; she remembers Morgana's ultimate fate with dark magic. Morgan has far too much power to just sit on it though, to bleed out like Noire. This is something that must be harnessed, trained, controlled. Perhaps that was why Noire was never trained... Morgan took up all her future self's time?

Morgan, fed up with the silence, fills it with questions about her mother and sister. Tharja answers them as best she can with a ghost of a smile. She'll worry about that later-she has daughter to settle in.

* * *

Settle in she does. Within the first week she knows all the Shepards by name. Between spending time with her parents and sister, she's obnoxiously cheerful around the camp and gets even the businesslike Kjelle and reserved Lucina to smile. Honestly, she's far too cheerful for Tharja's taste, but she's proud Morgan is making friends so quickly and it pleases her that Morgan is so like her father, even as she regrets how little she-or anyone-can see herself in Morgan. She ignores the thought, the regret, but continues to gnaw at her over the weeks.

Cherche is the tipping point; a week after her antisocial son joins the army, the mothers are eating together in the mess tent when the wyvern rider complains to Tharja with a good-natured laugh that she's failed to get a smile out of her own son while Morgan's managed one halfway through the first day he joined.

The same night, she's with Robin in their tent researching a spell. More accurately, reverse engineering Morgan's Nosferatu. It's not like her own... not yet anyway. Tharja has been toying and tinkering with improving the spell. Morgan's tome on the writing-table in front of her is the proof she succeeds. Robin is practicing tactics with Morgan with the board and pieces Robin carries around. She doesn't really understand it-dark magic is her thing after all-but she respects their almost magical ability to see and plan things.

Their game ends when Morgan's ambush from a forest is encircled. Morgan takes the defeat graciously, despite never beating her father yet, hugs herself and glances over to a scrollcase off to the side. When she leaves for the tent she shares with her older sister, Robin comes over and hugs his wife.

"I'm going to have to practice too," he smiles into her hair. "I was one step shy of getting completely wiped out," he confesses proudly.

_'So like her father..'._Tharja thinks, lowering her head. The gesture isn't lost on Robin; kissing her cheek he kneels down next to her and takes an unresisting hand. "What's wrong my love?" Tharja turns her head but doesn't look at him, staring at her daughter's tome. It's a stupid complaint she knows, but when she opens her mouth to assure him nothing's wrong, she remembers Noire's treatment; instead the truth spills out. "Morgan is nothing like me. I look at her and see only you."

She know's she's being stupid, but her hopes of her husband soothing her fears are dashed when he starts sniggering. The hurt look she gives him only makes him start laughing. When her look begins to promise dire consequences Robin manages to sputter out between laughter "Tharja, she's _exactly _like you!"

"No she's not," Tharja pouts. Robin, finally realising this is really upsetting Tharja stops laughing and squeezes her hand.

"Didn't you see just now?" he asks while Tharja withdraws her hand and hugs herself, "how when she lost she hugged herself and stared off to the side? You always do that when you're upset or something's bothering you."

"No I do-" she stopped mid denial. She was doing it now, and she could practically feel Robin's smirk at it. He could be insufferable sometimes.

"I know she's not as-" Robin pauses, trying to think of the right word. "..._reserved_... as you, but she acts like you all the time! The others say how alike you are-Viron mentioned how much Morgan reminded him of you act last time we played together."

Tharja gives a look that somehow manages to be hopeful and skeptic at the same time. She needs convincing. Robin isn't bothered, he's got plenty of ammunition.

"The way she casts spells," Robin continues, "the way she holds the book and the gestures she makes-they're identical to yours, she even does the same spin you do. When you eat, she saves her favorite bit of the meal for last like you do."

She's never noticed that, she realises. Robin takes her hand again, gently rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"Her favorite dessert seems to be apple crumble like you too." Straightening up, he leans forwards, slides his arm around her waist, sensing victory over her insecurities.

"I know she's a massive daddy's girl," he murmurs inches from her face, "but you ask anyone else and they'll tell you it isn't me she reminds them of... and when I look at her, I only see you too my love." Tharja feels a smile forming, and closes the gap between them.

Neither get much sleep that night.

_-End_

* * *

_And here we go, another bit of work I threatened to create. Tharja's treatment of Noire really is puzzling unless you take her as a sociopath. If you do that though, there's bits here and there that really undermine that though-Tharja takes away Noire's amulet that turns her into a killing machine (Morgan mentions an Angry Marines Noire turning the tables in an 'off stage' fight during one of the scrambles) and tells her "Just be my daughter." Then there's the final support with her._

_But that still doesn't explain why she's hexing her daughter with colds and other Stuff. Cue fanwanking._

_Thank Dane Namor for this; I had several scenes of Tharja interacting as a mother in my head, complaining to them that I had no idea what to do with them so they said words to the effect of 'publish them as oneshots.' Which made me think of snapshots of Tharja as a mother at various points. Keeping in the present tense (and keeping track of it) was a lot harder than I thought it would be, so I'm not going to be shocked if it suddenly goes third person despite checking. If it did, apologies._


End file.
